You had turned up with a fresh bruise

A navy blue palimpsest on a glass jaw

Seaside tears trailed down from eyes

Half closed through fear and swelling


You had brought the Webley .22 rifle

Given to you by your maths teacher

And a pack of bullets stolen from him

Alongside a hip flask of Bristol Cream


As usual we barely spoke of dullness

Of substances and fractured bones

Instead dreaming of space shuttles

And the desolate surface of the moon


We picked through the urban jungles

Alleyways and long afternoon utopias

Until between the sights the ginger tom

Crawled furtively in search of its own prey


A thud and crunch and the creature lay

Shot twice through the eye and heart

A splintered mass of fur and sinews

Strangled by a child’s primal scream


I found you sat by the poor cat’s side

Elbow deep in viscera and victory

Naming the parts as you tore them out

Crying and laughing and screaming


That night you sent the torch signal

Three flashes for he’s drunk again.


◄ gecko

60/16 ►


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Sun 6th Dec 2015 15:59

Stu well done. To me maths and destruction come together as I was crap at maths. I also have a Webley 22 and it is tempting - but I love the simple creatures ! It awaits a finer destiny.
Wonderful poem , tells the story with great sweeps and its thought provoking about youth,and I enjoyed it.


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Stu Buck

Sun 6th Dec 2015 15:30

thanks ian - i was hoping to disgust! not quite 'the wasp factory' standards though. glad you enjoyed it.

david - i have indeed used the same event before in a brief part of the poem 'sandy' but decided to zoom in as it were and flesh it out.

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Ian Whiteley

Sun 6th Dec 2015 12:47

this is really good Stu - I sort of want to turn away from the picture you paint - but you watch until the end. That 2 line pay off at the end is chilling. Good stuff

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